


Just Two Musicians (and their family)

by Tomatosoupful



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Coco Locos Fluff Off, Family Bonding, Family offerings, Gen, Living and Dead, Miguel growing old, Music, Took too long to write, favourite songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 18:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomatosoupful/pseuds/Tomatosoupful
Summary: Music is returning to the Rivera family, and Miguel can finally seek out new songs. What's more, he can share it with Héctor, every Día de los Muertos.Family fluff. Prompt: "I am who I am because of you."





	Just Two Musicians (and their family)

**Author's Note:**

> Cutting it kind of close, huh?

Héctor was a musician. Him. A _musician_.

Miguel could almost hear his Abuelita sneer, “Of course he is! Just _look_ at him! He should spend less time playing, and more time working.” Then she would throw a shoe at him for good measure. Obviously, Miguel wasn’t going to behave like _that_. After all, he was not like his family.

So instead, Miguel shuffled closer on the bench and watched as Héctor’s fingers plucked the strings of Chicharrón’s humble guitar. The tune was soft, like a singer trembling under a stage light before a stingy crowd. Looking around them, Miguel couldn’t blame Héctor for shrinking away at the hordes of skeleton folk. Everything was heightened to 100% by the holiday mood, especially the volume. People had to raise their voices to a shout as the street band playing nearby ensured everyone heard them. Any other time, Miguel would be happy to hear a band performing but he wanted to listen to Héctor.

Because _Héctor was a musician_!

Glancing down, Miguel noticed Dante’s head poking out from under the bench. The dog looked like he had earned himself a treat. A curious thought wondered if Dante knew of Héctor’s talent all along but that was ridiculous. Dante’s just a dog. A good one but not especially bright. A shame too. Miguel was itching to learn more about the strange shabby skeleton he got roped with, but he didn’t know how to ask, and Dante couldn’t give him any answers. Sure, he could ask Héctor but … before this musical discovery, he saw the man as an oddity he had to put up with. Now?

Héctor …Héctor was _cool._

And Miguel – Miguel of the Rivera family that banned the very thought of music – wasn’t.

Sighing, he fished from his pocket one of the tangerines Héctor had bought him. They had arrived at the tram station hoping to reach the music competition without trouble. Unfortunately, trouble reared its inconvenient head through an announcement apologising for a half hour delay. Dante, being a good boy, leapt onto the closest bench before someone else could grab it but _then_ Miguel’s stomach kindly reminded him, he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. And it was late too. He would have been just fine ignoring it but Héctor wasn’t having any of that.

Miguel guiltily scratched off the fruit’s skin, recalling how deep Héctor had to dig in his tattered clothes just to find enough scattered coins. But he had insisted. “I’m not about to let some kid starve on me,” he waved him off, buying two of the fruit. Then added, “Besides, skeletons don’t have stomachs. Can’t have you giving yourself away, right?”

“Right. Thanks,” Miguel had mumbled back, hoping he could find a way to pay Héctor back.

As he chewed on the tangerine slice, he wondered if Héctor liked them too. Who wouldn’t? Even Mamá Coco, in her frail state, always accepted a tangerine. Certain of his idea, Miguel grabbed the second fruit and held it out to Héctor, who stopped playing when he noticed the offering.

 “…want it?” Miguel asked, surprised by his nerves.

It was a relief when Héctor accepted it with a, “ _Gracias_.”

The guitar rested between the two as they ate. Twice, Dante attempted to sneak in a bite and failed both times. Dante’s mood wasn’t affected though. Instead, the _Xolo_ found entertainment when the nearby band began another song, with a big goofy grin overwhelming his thin rubbery face. At the same time, Héctor sat up straighter and his smile grew wider. He clicked his fingers to grab Miguel’s attention.

“ _Chamaco_ , listen! Listen to this! _This_ is a great song,” Héctor said, he switched to clicking to the beat. His bones shook in a different way, not like he was about to collapse but like his body couldn’t contain his excitement. “It’s one of my favourites. I haven’t heard it in so long.”

When Miguel caught the song, he perked up. It _was_ catchy! He threw the final slice in his mouth then picked up Chicharrón’s guitar. He thought of the melody and toyed with the strings trying to recreate it like he had done for all of de la Cruz’s songs. Immediately, he noticed this song was different to de la Cruz’s. He wasn’t sure how or why, but it was making his fingers fumble. Noticing Héctor watching, Miguel’s face felt like it had been left out under the sun.

“Uh… sorry,” Miguel mumbled, lowering the guitar.

“Huh? What’d you stop playing for?” Héctor enthusiastically pushed the guitar back to Miguel. “Come on, you almost got it.”

Miguel felt tingles race up his body. Someone wanted to listen to him play! He thought of his desperate plea to his living family, to be listened, before Abuelita snatched his make-shift guitar off him and …and … swallowing thickly, Miguel replied shyly, “Oh. Um… okay.”

Although his face was boiling, his fingers felt stiff as though he’d stuffed them in snow. The twangs of the guitar strings sounded awkward at first as he willed his hands to move properly. Little by little, however, his nervousness thawed. Strings were press down on the fretboard and strummed over the sound hole. Like brushing away dust to reveal the skeleton underneath, Miguel was slowly recreating the song. Until he reached a point that –

Just –

Wasn’t –

Working –

Miguel sighed roughly and bumped his knuckles against the guitar. Héctor shook his head in sympathy. “Ay, that part’s not so easy but you did good.”

Even though Miguel appreciated Héctor’s assurance, that still didn’t stop him feeling ashamed of his mistake. Maybe if he had more time to practise, more opportunity to explore and learn music, he wouldn’t have crashed into this roadblock. Hunching his shoulders and burying his head deeper in the hoodie, Miguel muttered, “That’s… that’s okay. Wait, I can play other things too!”

Héctor answered with a bemused smile. “Of course you can, you said were a musician.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Go on, go on. Play.”

That’s right, play. Héctor, the _musician_ , wanted to hear him play.

Miguel held the guitar tightly for a few seconds then relaxed, releasing the stress in a long sigh. He thought back to his hiding spot in the attic above Mamá Coco’s room and the sense of peace it brought. It was _just_ him and the music. As easy as blinking, Miguel began the song he played earlier that day, _A Feeling_. Even among the loud and boisterous crowd, he could almost hear de la Cruz’s voice join in. Surrounded by the old architecture in the station and the fancy outfits of nearby dead skeletons, Miguel felt like he had fallen into one of de la Cruz’s movies too.

He glanced up at Héctor.

“W-what? Didn’t I play it right?” Miguel blurted out. He had dedicated so much of himself to learning that song perfectly, there’s no way he had messed something up. So… why did Héctor look so uncomfortable? As though he was listening to an untuned instrument.

That look was shrugged away as Héctor awkwardly cleared his throat and said apologetically, “No, no, no, no. Don’t worry about me, _chamaco_. You played it great. In fact, better than I’ve heard in a while.”

Although Miguel was still confused over Héctor’s reaction, he bashfully accepted the compliment. “It’s one of my favourite songs! It’s like de la Cruz just _knew_ how I felt about music and why it matters and – and – just –” he stammered, unable to articulate his thoughts.

Héctor raised an amused eyebrow bone. “And he turned your feelings into music? Cause he felt the same way?”

“Yeah!” Miguel exclaimed. He almost melted with relief. Finally, someone who really gets it. If only his family could. Pleased with this connection between him and Héctor, Miguel launched into an excited speech about de la Cruz and how much he admired the man’s talent and how strongly he felt about his songs. Sometimes it felt like de la Cruz had written the soundtrack to Miguel’s life when he had none.

It was like a dam breaking and all the water rushing out. Miguel didn’t realise how desperately he had wanted to talk about it until now. It reminded him of those peaceful talks with Mamá Coco. “And I just -!”

“Slow down,” Héctor said with a laugh. “You’re making _me_ breathless.”

Miguel exhaled, feeling buzzed. Below, Dante wagged his tail at the two of them as though things were going according to plan. Huh… in Miguel’s jubilant mood, maybe Dante really was more aware than he let on.

Slowing down his words, Miguel finished, “I just… I _really_ love de la Cruz’s music. I like all that other stuff about its special meaning but it’s also so much fun to play. All of his songs are my favourites.”

“Really?” Héctor answered light-heartedly. “Haven’t you heard any others?”

 _No_.

“Yeah, I have,” Miguel defended quickly. He liked Héctor but admitting the restrictive music-banned family he was a part of was a no-go. “I mean …well, de la Cruz is a lot of people’s favourite musician. Not just mine. I don’t care if it’s too obvious or boring, de la Cruz is the best and _Remember Me_ is my all-time favourite song.”

At that, Miguel fiddled with the guitar again. Thinking of de la Cruz’s career, Miguel played bits and pieces of the legend’s songs, mashing them together into an acoustic remix. Playing it gave Miguel a sense of pride and finality. It appeared Miguel was alone in this bubble of contentment though. Dante had laid his belly on the floor and was resting his head against Héctor’s legs. Héctor himself was mindlessly scratching the dog’s ears, his stare far off and distant.

“You okay?” Miguel asked. “Did I say something?”

Héctor blearily snapped out of his daze. “Hmm? No, no. Just …you’re only young, you’ll find more favourites.” The man flashed his golden tooth in a crooked smile, as though his previous quiet episode hadn’t occurred.

Miguel smirked.

Just as he was about to ask what Héctor’s favourite de la Cruz song was, Dante leapt to his feet and barked at the incoming tram. Miguel gasped and bounced off the bench. Finally, he was on his way to the music competition and then his great-great-grandfather!

* * *

 

_Months later…_

Miguel was racing upstairs when he paused.

He would never admit it to his school friends, but his eyes welled up when he realised what he was hearing.

His Abuelita was humming. She was in the kitchen, washing up from morning tea. A brand-new radio, the first to ever enter the Rivera property, was playing a slow sweet melody. Abuelita’s voice cracked and wavered in and out but the emotion behind it matched the song. Miguel considered launching downstairs and wrapping his Abuelita in a hug but instead, he tip-toed up the rest of the stairs as though he was treading through his baby sister’s room. Something in him felt like Abuelita’s humming wasn’t ready to be heard yet, like a young animal cautiously exploring the world beyond its nest. It didn’t need a loud noise scaring it back inside.

Content to leave his Abuelita alone, Miguel searched for his Mamá. He wasn’t going back on his decision, but he _had_ to tell someone! Someone who knew how to keep a secret. He found Mamá blowing raspberries at baby Socorro. The five-month-old was lying on her back, her legs kicking as though she was trying to swim. Miguel lowered and tickled his sister’s stomach.

“Mamá! You’re not going to believe what just happened.”

His Mamá’s eyebrows furrowed as she gave it some thought. “Did Indiana Jones escape another daring adventure?” she asked.

Miguel sheepishly shrugged, suddenly aware of all the times he had gushed over all the new movies he was now allowed to watch. Only two weeks ago, a flat screen television had been hung up in one of the living rooms and Miguel had been glued to the screen ever since. According to his Abuelita, his brain was melting, and his eyes were going square but that didn’t make sense to him. He aced his maths quiz yesterday so clearly his brain was fine, and even if it was true, it was _so_ worth it.

Miguel adored hearing the soundtracks to these movies, sometimes more than the story. Papá Héctor’s white guitar was a common companion as Miguel tried to copy the movie themes like Star Wars and Finding Nemo. It was harder than he thought but the music wouldn’t leave him, committed to following him like Dante. Thinking of Papá Héctor, he supposed that these were new favourite songs.

Miguel wished he could share them with him. He also wished he could convince Abuelita to watch a movie with him. Maybe her humming meant that day was drawing close.

So, Miguel told his Mamá about Abuelita including every single last detail. Even the details that, on reflection, probably weren’t needed but Mamá paid full attention anyway as though she was listening to a country leader give a speech. When he finished, he took a much deserved deep breathe. Mamá smiled warmly at him, “You did good leaving your Abuelita alone.”

“Yeah,” Miguel acknowledged. “But I hope she sings to us one day.” He remembered the shock that shot through him when Mamá Imelda’s voice had rung through the narrow stairway, like a cry for help. Her voice had been so beautiful, would Abuelita’s be the same?

Mamá brushed stray hair out of Socorro’s face and said, “Maybe one day but she’s just not ready. It was only a few months ago she was chasing any musician that dared walk by the shop.”

Miguel scrunched up the bottom of his shirt. “But it’s taking _so much_ time. I saw Rosa looking at Papá Héctor’s guitar yesterday. She wanted to play it, I know it! But then we learnt about …well…”

Both of them cringed at the thought of the most recent discovery in the murder investigation. It seemed like every time a family member considered testing the guitar, a new element in Papá Héctor’s tragic end came to light and his guitar remained untouched.

It was salt continuously rubbed into an open wound. A wound that failed to heal properly years ago and had scarred. Now there was the chance to fix things. Miguel wasn’t sure the scar would ever fully disappear but at least it was being mended. He reconsidered his words, “I don’t want to force anyone but …”

“I know, I understand _mijo_ ,” Mamá gently lifted his chin. “There’s only so much you can do. I know you want everything to move faster but after hating music for so long, it’s not going to happen overnight. It’s good a thing we have plenty of time, right?”

Miguel thought of the marigold bridges and the towers of colourful buildings that looked like a coral reef climbing towards the night sky. He thought of the skeletons that lived there and his dead family, continuing to exist beyond the grave. Yes, the Rivera’s had plenty of time.

Socorro suddenly released a loud burp and dissolved into a giggle fit. Miguel found it both gross and endearing. Mamá caressed her daughter’s cheek affectionally before standing up. “Stay right here,” she instructed and walked into her bedroom.

There was the sound of moving objects inside. Heavy objects too and Miguel frowned when he heard the rumble of a chair being pushed aside. Seconds later, there was a rattle and Mamá returned carrying a handful of CDs. Delighted at the chance to hear more music, Miguel leaned forward.

“I used to make these before I met your Papá,” Mamá explained. She flipped through the cases like playing cards. Her eyes brightened as all the memories associated with them came back to her. “I collected my favourite songs. See?”

She held out one of them. Miguel recognised his Mamá handwriting, though it wasn’t as neat. There was a list of song names and bands scribbled onto the discs. The one held by his Mamá was called: _Summer of 1999._ Miguel held the CD like he was handling pure gold. “You’ve had these all this time?”

Mamá winked. “I wasn’t going to throw them out.” She spotted one particular song title and pointed to it, “I had this stuck in my head for _weeks_.”

It was then Miguel realised his Mamá was _so cool!_

He listened intently as he’d done with Papá Héctor as Mamá said, “I want to show them to your Papá next time we take a drive. I have a feeling he’ll like a few of them.”

Miguel snickered. “He’ll get the shock of his life.”

“That’s what he said when I agreed to marry him,” Mamá grinned.

Socorro gurgled and smacked her tiny fist against a CD case. As Mamá moved her playlists away from the baby, Miguel read over the song lists and thought of an idea.

* * *

 

“And what are you doing with the _ofrenda_?”

“Nothing.”

Behind him, Abuelita scoffed. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Miguel grinned sheepishly. He stepped out of the way to satisfy her curiosity.

A CD Player sat near the old family portrait, nestled in a nest of orange petals. A bunch of CDs stacked in a small tower was beside it, made up of Mamá’s playlists and albums collected over the Rivera family’s first year of music. The faint frown on Abuelita’s face fell and she approached the _ofrenda_. Miguel bit the inside of his cheek, praying he hadn’t miscalculated.

He quickly cracked under the pressure. “I just thought, you know, that Papá Héctor would – and! And the whole family too, would like to have one. I… um…” he steadied his breathing under Abuelita’s stern gaze and picked up one of the albums. “I saw you really like this one. Do you think Mamá Imelda will like it too?”

For a moment, Miguel wanted to flee Santa Cecilia and never return because what was he thinking?! Later, Abel and Rosa would pat him on the back and congratulate him for surviving. For now, however, Abuelita winced slightly, eyeing the music she had taken quite the liking to, and finally nodded stiffly.

“Okay.”

Miguel’s heart flipped. “Really?”

Abuelita pursed her lips. “You heard me. But _no_ candles near the player! If it burns, I’m not buying another one.”

Her threat didn’t have the response she was going for. Miguel knew she was used to an obedient nod and a respectable “Sí Abuelita,” not a laugh and tight hug but too bad. That’s what she got and Abuelita would just have to deal with. And she did without complaint.

Afterwards, Miguel adjusted the CD tower and made sure a particular one was the first spotted. It stood out against the others with its hand-drawn cover of weird dancing skeletons (Miguel was very proud of his drawing skills, no matter how long his cousins laughed). On the back of the cover was a list of songs and bands and a note that read: _To Papá Héctor. My Favourite Songs of 2018. Love Miguel_.

Miguel felt that familiar shame clawing at his throat. His Papá Héctor was so cool and knew so much more about music than he did. An insecure part of him worried Papá Héctor would find Miguel’s choice of songs amateurish, despite his effort this year to learn more.

He had joined the school band, received a music player for his birthday and downloaded numerous songs, heard popular hits across the decades, and listened to the radio while he did his homework. He tried putting the radio in the bathroom but Abuelita and his parents joined forces to deliver him a firm and final, “No.” The kind of no that couldn’t be negotiated with. That was unfortunate but still, Miguel had tried his hardest to hear all kinds of music beyond Papá Héctor’s this year.

Thankfully, those stupid thoughts disappeared like a blessed relative when he remembered that this was _Papá Héctor_ , he wouldn’t be like that. He’d understand. Just like how his own Papá had come back from the car ride with Mamá and proclaimed he married a woman with great taste or how Abuelita allowed him to make a special first time offering.

Feeling a confidence that had passed down the Rivera family from the moment a single mother decided to butt her head against the world and open up a shoe store, Miguel joined his family celebrations, certain his great-great-grandfather would appreciate the gift.

* * *

 

_Years Later…_

There was a muted bump as Miguel gently placed the guitar case down. His arms were aching after carrying it and his luggage. His latest trip overseas had stuffed his suitcase to its limit, but he had returned home with a sealed contract promising a bright future composing movie soundtracks. Not bad for a guy with a limited start to music.

Miguel bent down and clipped open the guitar case. Around him, he heard a different soundtrack to the adventure movies he had worked on with more accomplished musicians. This one was made up of pots and pans clanging together and the swift hiss of knives cutting vegetables. The thump of footsteps acted as a beat and the moan of moved furniture added an extra depth. It was all backed up by the lively chatter of his relatives, from his Mamá and Tía complimenting their outfits to his younger cousins and sister trying to organise their musical performance for tonight. It was a soundtrack brimming with nostalgia, a mixture of family and music. Miguel mentally noted it all down in preparation for his next project.

Pulling the case lid up, he admired the guitar inside. He couldn’t wait to show his family. Papá Héctor’s pearly white guitar had served Miguel well but it was time he had his very own. It was a bronze colour, bordered by black and golden leaf patterns. Except for the head which Miguel _had_ to let a rainbow decorate the face to match a skeleton’s facial markings. A co-worker had remarked that the styles clashed but to Miguel, it reminded him of the mismatching colours of his _alebrije_ , Dante. Up close, a mess. From afar, it just…worked.

Miguel positioned his guitar against the _ofrenda_. Beside it, near Papá Héctor’s and Mamá Imelda’s portrait as always, there was another CD labelled: _2030 Favourites, Love Miguel._

Standing alone in the _ofrenda_ room, surrounded by the background music of his family’s celebration, Miguel wondered if Papá Héctor was nearby. “Thanks for letting me play yours” he whispered. “I'm…who am I because of you. So, I hope you like it."

* * *

 

**SANTA CECILIA LOCAL NEWSPAPER:**

_Multi Award-Winning Music Composer Miguel Rivera passes away age 92._

 

Returning to the Land of the Dead, permanently this time, felt like coming home.

Miguel had spent a lifetime translating emotions into soundtracks to support narrative and characters, but he knew he could _never_ accurately express the feeling of reuniting with his family again. He hardly had the chance to adjust to his new skeleton body before he was swept up into hugs that ached everywhere, from his bones being crushed to the raw emotional storm in his ribcage and sting in his eyes. He thought he would lose it completely upon seeing Mamá Coco, Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor…

He was wrong. Seeing his Papá and Mamá again brought back memories of tearfully racing into his parents’ arms after his first day of school. It took a long time for him to separate from them. _Then_ , he lost it again when he reunited with Mamá Coco (he had so many stories to share), Mamá Imelda (despite his career, he _had_ learnt to make shoes and was keen to show them off), and finally Papá Héctor who still somehow was the coolest person Miguel had ever met.

Weeks later, the family was settling back into their newly established routine. Despite Miguel’s early taste of the Land of the Dead, he had a lot more to take in. It was almost overwhelming and had he kept his aged body, he would have needed a nap after the first hour of exploring. Luckily, as Mamá Coco gladly showed when she danced on stage, that wasn’t an issue with bones. Seeing his great-grandmother dance like that had stopped him dead (ha, he’ll never stop finding that funny) in his tracks. He had grown used to his living family becoming a musical one but witnessing the previously only dead Rivera’s was a whole new experience.

Tía Rosita hummed when she baked and arranged flowers; Tío Oscar loved jazz and hated heavy metal while Tío Felipe loved heavy metal and hated jazz; Papá Julio was a perfect match to Mamá Coco’s dancing and found a guilty pleasure in electronica; and Tía Victoria had joined a local choir and played the violin every opportunity she could get. Even Pepita purred whenever an instrument played and Dante, the good boy, would wag his tail faster. Every time Miguel saw them it was like his skull was making a hundred rotations a minute. The biggest surprise of all had been Mamá Imelda and Abuelita singing together. Miguel nearly fainted.

Yet there was a sense of relief when Papá Héctor eventually pulled him aside to go on an adventure. Just the two of them. When they arrived at their destination, recognition hit him. It was Frida Kahlo’s studio in the arts district. “Taking me down memory lane?” he joked.

“Surprised?” Héctor grinned, and Miguel noticed the golden tooth shined far brighter than it used to. “Frida’s keen to work with you. She’s a big fan of your work.”

Miguel’s facial markings glowed. “Really?”

“She’s due here later this afternoon,” Héctor went on, directing Miguel not to a window to bother a stressed seamstress but the front door. “For now, I want to show you something.”

Miguel followed after Héctor, pleasantly noticing how easy it was to keep up with the physically younger man despite _his_ physically older body. Good thing too, the studio had gone through major renovations over the decades. Judging by the artworks and stage props, Frida had only expanded her artistic horizons. The chance to work with her was both inspiring and a little daunting.

After a few more turns, they arrived at a studio set with speakers and instruments and a desk with stationary scattered everywhere. Miguel’s fingers twitched, itching to start writing again. Papá Héctor gestured to the open space. “Aaaaaand this is where _I_ work. Not all the time though, sometimes I’m in the workshop.”

“I’m glad you’re playing again.”

“Ha, yeah. Shoemaking? Ehhh, it’s not for me.”

Miguel laughed. “Me too. You …” his voice trailed off when he spotted a familiar shape learning against the writing desk. “Oh, you didn’t… you did!”

It was his very own bronze guitar. As he raced towards it, he heard Héctor say, “Of course I did! You did gift it to me …right?”

“Sí but…” Miguel picked up the guitar, there wasn’t a speck of dust on it. He was an old man now but still found himself asking, “Do you like it?”

Later down the line, when they grew closer as adults rather than relying on their memories of Miguel as a child, Héctor would ask him why it mattered. But for now, Héctor answered honestly, “It’s beautiful. Plays well too.”

“Thank you,” Miguel said softly. He found Héctor’s white guitar resting against the wall nearby. His bronze guitar didn’t look out of place at all. Beside Héctor’s instrument, he noticed a stack of CDs. He almost dropped the guitar when he realised what he was looking at.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Careful,” Héctor exclaimed, his hand popping off and sliding across the floor to catch the bottom of the guitar before it hit the ground. “Can’t have you breaking it… what?”

It took only a second for Héctor to understand. “Oh, I found a lot of new favourites thank to these. Thank you,” he grabbed the top case and admired it. “Our family looked forward to them every year.”

“Guess that means I better make more,” Miguel said, absorbing the tower of CDs before him. It felt like looking at his lifetime.

“Funny you say that,” Héctor clicked his fingers at another bundle of CD cases. “You know, musicians don’t stop making music when they die. So, I thought you must be _dying_ –” he nudged Miguel’s shoulder and they both chuckled. “– that’d you like to catch up on all the music you’ve missed.”

Miguel knew he no longer had a beating heart, yet it felt like he did as he picked up one of the CDs. It read: _Favourites of LotD 2018_. His smile felt like it would crack his skull in half. “I can’t wait.”

“Why wait?”

Soon enough, music from many years ago surrounded the two musicians as they played their respective guitars, trying to copy the tune. Miguel had to admit, his Papá Héctor could pick out a great song among the thousands and uncover a melody from an explosion of noise. When they reached the third song, Héctor paused with a frown. He swiftly reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a notebook and pen. Miguel leaned over to see him scribbling musical notes.

“You’re writing again.”

Héctor shrugged. “I didn’t want to for a while. Felt strange to write again but …” his frown gave way. “I guess I just …”

“…needed some time?”

Héctor smiled. “Sí. Something I have plenty of now.”

Something in Miguel settled like a day finally drawing to a close. Sitting beside Héctor felt familiar yet so distant from all those years ago when it was just the two of them on _Día de los Muertos_. Miguel smirked suddenly at a thought and said, “Hey, Papá Héctor?”

“Yeah?”

“ _Remember Me_ is still my all-time favourite.”

This time, Héctor didn’t mind in the slightest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like it. Happy New Year!


End file.
